


Feathers

by Faequeen40



Series: Within the Gilded Cage [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Druids, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-11-10 01:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11116743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faequeen40/pseuds/Faequeen40
Summary: A collection of snippets from Songbird that never made the final cut as well as requests from the Songbird universe.





	1. Lance Versus the Druid

**Author's Note:**

> Ask and you shall receive.  
> Quite a few of you asked to see Lance's heroic escape from the druid and after quite a long wait, I finally had the chance to sit down and bang this out.  
> If there is anything else that you guys would like to see, let me know and I'll see what I can do!  
> Enjoy!

Blank cerulean eyes stared at the ceiling above him sightlessly, will to struggle sapped from him by the all-consuming ache in the entirety of his being.

Time seemed to blur together under the ministrations of the druid, their hands dragging out each moment of suffering. Lance wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d laid upon the cold metal table.

Hours? Days?

_An eternity?_

It was all the same to Lance’s addled mind. Ever since his connection to Keith had faded into silence, Lance had existed in a haze.

He was vaguely aware of voices around him, sharp fingers prodding roughly around his stinging eyes, cold impersonal hands dancing along the shell of his ears.

He couldn’t bring himself to push them away, to thrash and hiss.

Instead he focused on the dappled light his tattoos gave off, willing away the soul deep pain of the nascent brands in his skin.

Idly, he compared the light that from his tattoos to that of the filtered sunlight that shimmered in the gentle ocean waves of his beloved home. It reminded him of easier times, hours whiled away beneath the sea’s surface, swimming along the sands.

It was a comforting comparison and he let it lull him into a state of quiescence. He could almost feel the waves rocking beneath him and he wanted nothing more than to let them float him away.

The druid couldn’t hurt him beneath the waves of Varadero Beach.

He was about to close his stinging eyes, to surrender himself to the glorious bliss of the waves when he felt hands at the bindings of the table, a furious, fiery growl echoing in the back of his mind.

“Is it really safe to be unchaining him?” A guard asked nervously, their visage a mere shadow at the edge of Lance’s fuzzy vision.

“The Blue Paladin is in a state close to catatonia.” The druid sniffed dismissively, their voice fanning the flames that Red called to so insistently, “He’s too busy clinging to his sanity to represent any kind of threat.”

“Then why keep him here?”

“Because I’m not finished.” Thordis snapped, a zap of quintessence making the guard audibly recoil, “The Prince has quite a bit more in store for his toy.”

Lance’s blood boiled at the implication that he was merely a plaything for Lotor. The rage stoked by the Red Lion filled him, the lovely dappled blue glow of his tattoos morphing into crimson, the color reminding him of his promise to the druid after they forced him to share his pain with Keith.

He had promised to pass that pain on to the druid.

And now was his chance.

He waited until he heard the druid’s soft footsteps fading away, the whoosh of a door pushing Lance to act.

The fire and fury of the Red Lion bolstered him, pushing away his aches and agony.

He didn’t feel the pain of his brands, the sharp stinging in his fingers or even the residual hurt from his ears, those changes seeming as if they had taken place eons ago.

His blurry vision sharpened and he let a wicked grin curl over his face, copper tainting his tongue from where his teeth had been morphed.

He would only have one chance to catch the druid off-guard.

There would be no more shaping under their cruel hands, no more purred expressions of malice, no more chuckles of sadistic enjoyment.

Lance would end it all. And then he’d go after Lotor.

He took only a moment to steel himself, an internal typhoon of emotion driving him. A part of him was worried by the sheer level of anger and bloodlust that dwelled at the center of his being.

Had he always had that?

A beast of fire and anger that dwelt beneath the waves of tranquility he was so used to?

Pushing aside his thoughts violently, Lance readied himself.

There would be time for those questions later.

In a flurry of purple fabric and glowing tattoos, Lance flung himself from the table. He took advantage of the guard’s surprise and wrestled their blaster from them with little struggle.

The guard recovered far quicker than Lance anticipated and he was immediately forced on the defensive. He jerked the butt of the blaster into the guards’ face, a sick horror filling him when the force of his blow buckled in the front of the guards’ helmet grotesquely.

It was beyond anything he had previously been capable of and he swallowed against a wave of bile that threatened to flood his mouth. The damage was horrendous.

He wasn’t a close range fighter and the nearness of his actions shocked him.

He may have dwelled upon it longer if not for the soft, padding footsteps of the druid returning. He shouldn’t have been able to hear them, not with how light they were. He hadn’t even heard the druid move back when they were in the throne room but now, now he could hear every click of the druid’s clawed feet across the floor.

His senses were beyond what they had been and he fought down a surge of panic, desperately using his rage and resolve to keep himself from dissolving into a mess. Lance didn’t have the option to fall apart here. He couldn’t afford to lose this chance.

He had a promise to keep, after all.

Moving quickly, Lance positioned himself in front of the door, the blaster feeling more than natural in his morphed hands. This was his area of expertise after all.

He wasn’t Voltron’s sharpshooter for nothing.

The druid seemed to hesitate outside the room for a moment and Lance swallowed harshly, anticipation and adrenaline pushing his pain to the fringes of his awareness, sharpening each moment to a laser focus and intensity.

The door whooshed open without warning, the telltale crackle of quintessence providing the only warning that the druid was ready to attack. Reflexively, Lance fired, the changes to his eyes throwing off his typically stellar aim.

His intended headshot went wide, clipping the edge of the druid’s mask and making them flinch back, their own attack slamming into the wall beside Lance. Yelping at the close call, Lance danced to the side, firing again at the recovering druid.

“Your rebellion will change nothing, paladin.” They hissed, their voice sending a fresh wave of anger through Lance’s body, “You won’t defeat me.”

“I don’t plan on defeating you.” Lance snarled, voice rough and broken from the hours spent screaming his agony into an unsympathetic room, “I plan on killing you.”

“My, how bloodthirsty.” They tutted, “If the Prince wasn’t so focused on making you a pretty toy, you’d be a fine gladiator. Just like our beloved Champion. Are all humans so monstrous?”

“Monstrous? Ha.” Lance spat, “The only monster in here is you.”

The druid disappeared in a wisp of black smoke, their reappearance behind Lance making him scuttle away, grip so tight on the blaster in his hands that the bends of his fingers were leaving marks in the metal. “Are you so sure about that, paladin?”

Panic clutched at Lance’s chest once more, a fear of the changes made to him making him slow, a hesitation to his actions presenting a vulnerable target to the druid.

He barely danced out of the way of yet another blast of crackling quintessence, Red’s roars echoing in his mind.

The Red Lion pushed him to finish this fight, to stop the venom dripping from the lips of the druid at its source.

She would tolerate no more of this.

And neither would Lance.

He raised the blaster once more, firing unerringly at the druid. The missed shots scorched the walls, blasting out the lights and carving their way through the table as the druid teleported around the room, barely evading Lance’s attacks.

“If this is the best you can do, I can understand why Voltron has yet to come for you.” The druid sneered, “Pathetic.”

Lance snarled in response, baring his newly sharpened teeth before vaulting over the ruined table towards the druid. He lashed out with the butt of the gun, the speed of his actions and the change in the flow of their battle surprising the druid enough to land a grazing hit with the already dented gun.

As with before, the gun collided with its target much, much harder than Lance expected and he blinked in surprise when the druid doubled over from the attack, a wheezing breath pulled from their chest. Red roared once more in the back of his mind and Lance shook himself, lining up the sight on his stolen blaster.

He fired.

Once.

Twice.

Even at close range, the alterations to his eyes made his aim shaky and the druid took the shots to the shoulder and stomach, the force behind the blasts knocking them to the floor.

With merciless strength, Lance flipped the druid onto their back, their slight exhalation of pain pulling a vicious grin to his face, bloodlust rising in the back of his mind.

This bastard made him suffer. Made _Keith_ suffer.

And they would pay for it.

Lance lined up the shot once more, ignoring the low laughter of the druid at his feet. “What’s so funny, _cabrón?”_

“It would seem that we have made a proper monster of you.”

Rage boiled over at the druid’s statement and Lance seethed, finger curling around the trigger. “You don’t know what you’ve made.”

He punctuated his words with a shot.

And another.

At last the druid fell still, their blood like thick black ink along the metal of the floor. Abruptly, the adrenaline drained from Lance’s limbs and he staggered back against the ruined table, turning away from the body in front of him.

He felt sick and wrong-footed, Red’s comforting purrs in the back of his mind not making him feel much better about the remnants of that unnatural bloodlust humming in his system.

Lance had never felt like that before.

Sure he had been excited about a win and nothing could top the joy of out flying the Galra fighters they encountered so often but this…

He had never felt like this before.

It was like a craving, an insatiable need to see his enemies in pieces on the floor. To wreck and ravage and destroy everything that stood in his way.

Everything that kept him from Keith.

Was this part of the bond that Maia had mentioned? Had the chemical processes already progressed so far that they were changing him from the inside out?

Just the thought of Keith made his soul ache and grief swell in his chest, like the waves before a hurricane.

He yearned to see _his_ Red Paladin again with an urgency that he couldn’t altogether understand.

Red purred her agreement in the back of his mind and he latched onto her unusually soothing presence with vigor. She let him curl close, pride in the strange pseudo-bond between the two of them.

Lance lost track of the time he spent standing over the body of the druid, mentally locked in Red’s embrace, her fiery purrs victorious.

He was so caught up in her pride that he didn’t hear the footsteps that approached the door. The door slid open loudly and he turned abruptly, startled so badly that he couldn’t control his reactions.

The finger on the trigger pulled back and the guard on the other side of the door toppled to the ground before anyone could blink. The second guard leapt back immediately, voice ringing out into the corridor.

“The Paladin is on the loose!”

Gritting his teeth and inwardly swearing at his own lack of focus, Lance sprang into action, running after the yelling guard. They made it halfway down the hall before Lance tackled them, pressing his stolen blaster into the guard’s throat.

“Which way to the control room?” Lance demanded, making sure to bare his sharp, bleeding teeth at the guard beneath him.

“I won’t tell you anything.” The guard said shakily, perspiration beading on their scaly forehead, “Vrepit sa.”

“You can either tell me or I’ll end it right here.” Lance threatened, the blaster beginning to light up where it was pressed against the guard’s neck.

The guard looked down at the blaster and then back at Lance several times before Lance lifted an eyebrow. “Any day now. I’m a busy guy. Got a super-hot boyfriend to get back to. As well as some pretty great friends. Today would be nice.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Come on.”

The guard narrowed his reptilian eyes and Lance huffed in frustration, firing the blaster into the floor next to the guard’s head, drawing a yelp from the downed guard. “Okay. Go down the main hallway just ahead and go to the right. The control room has double doors and bright green lights above the door.”

“Thanks buddy.” Lance chuckled, a grin coming to his face at the dumbfounded look on the guard’s face just before he tapped him in the forehead with the butt of the gun.

He was beyond careful to not put any more pressure into the tap that he absolutely had to. Even with holding back, a dark bruise bloomed across the guard’s head and his yellow eyes fluttered closed. After checking the guard’s pulse, Lance took off down the hallway.

The guards on this ship were very different from the Galra soldiers he had encountered before. They seemed more prone to emotion and fear, almost as if it hadn’t been trained out of them like the others. That guard had just seemed so scared.

Lance didn’t really want to kill the guards if he didn’t have to.

He’d never been a terribly violent person.

This newfound bloodthirst was starting to scare him. He needed to get back to the Castle. To get back to his friends and his home away from home.

He needed to get back to Keith.

Taking off down the hallway, he concentrated on centering himself, remembering the tranquility of Blue and the well of tranquility within himself. He needed to control the rage. Channel it.

Lotor was still on the ship.

And he owed him some payback as well.

The hallway flew under his feet and he skidded to a stop in front of the control room doors, the bright green lights above the door making his tattoos glow a sickly teal. He flicked his eyes to the panel beside the doors, the red scanner making him scowl. Lance lifted the blaster fluidly and fired, the panel sparking immediately and the doors sliding open, sticking and twitching in their tracks.

He dashed inside, pointing his blaster at the staff. “Where is Lotor?” He demanded, an inhuman growl coloring his words.

Two of the Galra leapt up from their stations, hands held in front of them, while the third merely stared back, a blank look to their eyes as they unerringly reached for a button in front of them.

Lance fired a shot just in front of their hand, his previous aim returning. The blaster cut through the machinery, sparking and spitting, the whole ship listing to the side.

“Where is he?”

The two cowering staff members pointed at the broken door and Lance shuddered as he felt someone move through the shuddering doors.

“Coming to find me already.” A voice purred behind him, “I suppose I should feel flattered. I knew you’d come to me eventually.”

Lance immediately turned on his heel, the blaster powering up in his hands. He fired immediately, the Galra Prince leaning to the side with a lazy air, as if the attack was boring him. It collided with the view screen in the center of the bridge, ricocheting off the sheer metal and scoring a long line across the ceiling.

“You think awfully highly of yourself.” Lance spat, powering up the blaster once more.

Lotor smirked at him, stepping boldly into the direct path of the blaster. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m a Prince. And infinitely superior to you in every way.”

Lance scoffed and fired once more, the blast skimming Lotor’s shoulder armor. “I think all the years have finally gone to your head, Prince Fancypants. You’re going senile.”

Lotor only gave him a pitying look and Lance snarled, firing as quickly as the blaster would allow. The blasts shot out across the bridge, scorching the walls and slamming into machinery, sparks flying through the air and a small fire igniting beneath one of the control panels.

A frown creased Lotor’s face and he leapt forward, his speed allowing him to grasp the blaster before Lance could react. The metal slipped from his fingers and he could feel panic clawing at him.

No.

It couldn’t end like this!

He had to get away. Had to get off this ship.

Had to make Lotor _pay_.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Lotor sidled closer, letting his claws dance along the side of Lance’s face, while his other hand come to clutch at Lance’s collar.

Desperate, Lance lashed out, nascent talons slashing at Lotor’s armor. The razor sharp tips raked across the front and Lotor snarled, pulling up on Lance’s collar and letting his feet dangle.

Lance gasped and gagged as the collar cut off his air, despair overpowering his previous anger.

“What a mess you’ve made, Blue.” Lotor tsked, his eyes roving over Lance’s skin, the gaze heated as it traced the lines of his tattoos, “But thankfully, you were almost done. I suppose I can live without a few of the changes for now. It will take time to conscript another druid from my father’s forces but I can afford to be patient for you. You’re already beyond glorious, precious Blue.”

Looking up at him, disdain coloring his cerulean gaze, Lance clutched at the hand that held his collar. “It won’t happen.”

“Because your precious Voltron will save you?” Lotor scoffed, “Your faith is almost too much, little paladin. But not to worry. We’ll break you soon enough.”

With that, Lotor dropped him to the ground, the previous pain from his changes making itself known as he hit the floor with a bone-rattling thud. Guards stepped forward, roughly grasping at his arms and hauling him up from the metal of the floor. “Take him back to the trophy room. I will decide what to do with him.”

Orders given, Lance’s guards dragged him from the room, their claws biting into his skin.

Even if his rebellion had been a failure, he’d stopped the changes. He’d kept his promise to the druid.

A wicked smile curved over Lance’s face, his bloodthirst sated for the moment even as his newfound instincts burned at his defeat at Lotor’s hands.

He couldn’t give up hope yet.

Voltron was still on their way, regardless of what Lotor wanted him to believe.

He’d hold out for them.

 

 


	2. Haggar and Lotor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Haggar adds insult to injury after Lance's rescue at the hands of Team Voltron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I love writing villains guys. Like so much.  
> They're the best.  
> This is also part of my Birthday Bomb!  
> Enjoy!

Agony.

Agony was all she could experience for the first few moments after she pulled herself from the twisting ether of the universe’s collective quintessence. It was but one way for druids to travel and no one was better at navigating the swirling corridors than Haggar herself.

It was a way to teleport instantaneously, to leave behind the weakness of the flesh temporarily in order to move from point A to point B.

If not for that particular talent, she wasn’t sure how well her escape from Team Voltron would have gone.

She had been _so close._ Her claws had rested upon the Blue Paladin’s throat. He had been at her mercy! The others were about to bow to her whims, to give themselves up in an act of misguided camaraderie and love for one another.

And then that blasted Blue Lion had shoved her _face_ through the wall and the Blue Paladin, the weapon that Lotor had spent so much time lovingly crafting, threw her like a rag doll.

His spirit had not been cowed. There were no fractures in his soul in that moment. He had faced her down with a fierce snarl, uncaring of the way her claws had ripped at his already scarred throat.

If anything, Lotor had only made him all the more dangerous. When she did get her hands on him, it would take a long, long time before she could break him down to a point that she would make him useful.

And with her Emperor’s health in such decline, it would be a long while before she could garner the forces to lead such an ambitious endeavor.

With grasping arms, Haggar dragged herself over to the nearest wall, black blood smearing the grimy floors of Lotor’s flagship, the wounds at her shoulder and hip continuing to bleed sluggishly, even as the quintessence that made up the core of her very existence worked tirelessly in heal her.

She was a being of nearly pure quintessence now, one with the void of those who existed beyond the scope of mortal comprehension. Such wounds wouldn’t kill her.

Oh no. _Far from it._

But they were painful, both physically and in the blow they dealt to her pride. She had let herself grow cocky and assured in her success. She had depended on the faulty services of others, even if those others were her druids, her _children_ as it were.

She had forgotten the prowess of the members of Team Voltron. Haggar had blissfully looked past the fact that those warriors had been the ones to incapacitate her beloved Emperor.

It was a foolish mistake and one she would not be prone to making in the future. She would remember the fierce skill of her Champion that wonderfully sculpted tool of warfare. She would not suffer another wound at the hands of a weapon _she_ had created.

And then the half-breed. She would do well to remember the desperation a mate bond could inspire and the strength it could fuel. He would not find her as easy an opponent the next time they met.

There would be another meeting. She guaranteed it. The plans for the Blue Paladin had not changed. Lotor had given her a glorious taste of a gift, a weapon for her people that could potentially take Voltron down.

Permanently.

She would learn patience from this encounter. Millennia without true opposition could make one weak when it came to actual confrontation.

Voltron had already been most useful in changing the way things were done. Every encounter with them grew her understanding by leaps and bounds. Particularly in that of quintessence and her pet project with the Robeasts.

And the humans themselves…

They were so extraordinarily adaptable in comparison to many of the other races that found themselves beneath Galran rule. The Champion had taken to the weapon she had created like a fish to water. The alterations to the Blue Paladin’s genetics could bear all kinds of fruit.

What she wouldn’t give to have a larger pool to draw from…

Her experimentation could lead to the death of resistance for all time.

The thought bolstered her and she rested against the wall of the hallway, breaths little more than wet wheezes as her body redirected energy and quintessence to the injuries she had suffered. The wound at her hip was painful, almost unbearably so.

The half-breed had nearly wedged his blasted luxite blade into her very bones. Such an injury did not heal easily and even the slightest movement taxed it. Her persistence in fighting against the Champion and the Altean whelp did not aid in her current predicament.

She felt a snarl curl over her lips at the thought of Altea’s poor lost princess and she curled her claws tightly. Allura had nearly cost Haggar everything when they had attacked Zarkon’s flagship.

Between her and those traitors, her precious prodigies, the Druids of the Four Directions were no more. Her power to experiment with Robeasts was put on hold until she could adequately train new ones to take their place.

And after this fiasco, such an endeavor would be time-consuming. More so than she had previously thought. Thordis had been one of her first picks and now thanks to Lotor’s lax security, they were dead.

The Altean child would get what was coming to her. Haggar swore it. She would bind the Princess in chains so heavy that even the hope of escape would be burdened. She would be a symbol of the death of the resistance. A symbol even greater than her current figurehead status.

A child Queen without a kingdom to return to. It was so tragically poetic that Haggar couldn’t help but smile.

As the burn of agony slowly ebbed from the wound on her hip, Haggar couldn’t help the way her thoughts turned to wayward Prince of the Empire. Even if Zarkon was well enough to command, he had still requested Lotor’s return, if for no other reason than to solidify his hold.

But the brat had done little in the way of real help. It came as no surprise that he was banished almost as soon as he had begun to act.

His preoccupation with aesthetics was almost as bad as Zarkon’s obsession with the Black Lion.  Perhaps this would tame the Prince a bit.

A wicked smile crossed Haggar’s face and she pushed to her feet, ignoring the burning in her shoulder as she glided down the halls.

This was an opportunity. An opportunity so rare that she had not even thought to hope for its arrival.

If she was correct, the Blue Paladin had not left this ship without getting in at least some form of revenge, and if not him, then the Red Paladin would not be convinced to leave without some sort of recompense.

Lotor would _owe her._

_He would owe her his very life._

No longer would he be content to flaunt his strength in her face. No longer would he ignore her council.

Because it would no longer be council.

It would be an _order._

A life debt to a Galra was more serious than anyone could understand. And he would owe her one so great that it would consume all that arrogance he wore like a cloak.

It didn’t take long to find the mess left of him.

She blasted the faulty control room doors open without a second thought, the blinking metal splayed wide and smoking as she stepped through.

Immediately the stench of blood and viscera assailed her and she wrinkled her nose, turning her sickly yellow gaze to crumpled heap of Galran Prince left against the wall.

Blue black pooled around his body, remaining eye half-lidded and glazed. The whole left side of his face was gouged and grotesque, a mess that even made Haggar’s stomach turn.

She padded closer softly, eyes searching out the rest of his injuries. The caved in plates on his chest dripped with more blood and she huffed out a sigh.

A Galran blaster then.

The Blue Paladin had been the one to take vengeance.

A perfect shot to the chest with a faulty blaster and then the eye.

A trophy perhaps?

For a sharpshooter as accomplished as the Blue Paladin, it was somewhat ironic that he chose to partially blind his captor.

Haggar could appreciate some irony.

“Mother…?” Lotor croaked, voice so weak it was little more than a whisper.

Haggar frowned, containing the strange ripple at the core of her being that reacted at that almost pleading word.

She was no _mother_.

She was Haggar, witch of Zarkon and destroyer of worlds. She was made of quintessence and stardust, the anger and fury of thousands of thwarted souls shrieking in her veins.

She was more than a _mother._

“You are mistaken, Lotor.”

Lotor’s remaining eyelid fluttered briefly, a hint of lucidity returning to his gaze. “Haggar….I take it…that you failed?”

A snarl curled over her lips and she stepped closer, taking no care to be gentle with her steps. Pointed shoes dug painfully into Lotor’s sprawled legs and he groaned. “No thanks to you. You couldn’t even properly break the human. You were too concerned with your ideals of aesthetic and your own wants that you grew distracted. You were foolish, Lotor.”

“A reprimand…on my death bed.” Lotor chuckled, “I cannot say….I expected any less.”

“Death bed? Oh no.” Haggar smirked, a brief flash of panic crossing the Prince’s face, “You won’t be dying here, Prince Lotor.”

“I prefer…death’s embrace over…anything you might…offer.” Lotor hissed, trying without success of pull away from her.

“I don’t think you have much choice in the matter, Lotor.” She sniffed, crouching in front of him, their faces level, “Because you will not be dying here. Your life will continue from here.”

“I don’t want your help.” Lotor growled, “I refuse…to owe you a life debt.”

Haggar pressed a hand lovingly to the unmarred side of Lotor’s face, a grin pulling at her lips. “We’ve had more than enough of what you want, Lotor. From now on, things will go as I dictate.”

Quintessence sparked from her hands and danced across Lotor’s skin, a slapdash patch-job blazing into existence.

There was no saving his eye.

But she had crafted replacements before. They were always better than the limb before.

He howled as her magic went to work, the quintessence under her command mending as quickly as she dared in her weakened state.

Lotor wouldn’t die.

Not just yet.

She had plans for him…and his precious trophy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy flipping birthday to me!  
> Also, I really like to use Lotor as a narrative punching bag. Its very satisfying.  
> Feel free to come scream at me in the comments and remember, caps lock is absolutely the way to my heart.  
> Until next time guys!


	3. The Bond: Keith Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's side of the bonding scene in Chapter Four of Songbird!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, this one hurt to write. Like I almost cried like three times.  
> Its hella angst.  
> As if I would ever really write anything else lol  
> Part of my Birthday Bomb!  
> Enjoy!

Keith had never felt so helpless.

It hadn’t even been that long since he’d awoken from cryo induced sleep and all he could think about was the steadily expanding void in his chest, an emptiness he didn’t have any idea how to fill.

He didn’t understand it. It felt almost as if something integral was missing, something that could break him down if it wasn’t returned. The human part of him regarded this strange phenomenon with apprehension but his Galra side….

His Galra side was _grieving._

There had always been a part of his brain he’d associated with instinct, with knowing what to do in battle and behind the controls of a ship. He hadn’t known what to identify it with until the revelation of his heritage but this was different.

That center of instinct urged him to let himself fall or to urgently seek out that piece he was so desperately missing. Every minute he spent awake made it harder and harder to resist that call and he was nearly shaking with how on edge he was.

Shiro had suggested maybe taking some time to destress in the training room. There wasn’t much he could really help with in the control room while they tracked down the Red Lion and at this point he was beginning to worry the others so much that they couldn’t concentrate.

And he didn’t want that. He didn’t want that _at all._

His brain just kept replaying Lotor’s transmission to them over and over, an anger building up in the very depths of his soul. He had _drugged_ Lance and then trussed him up jewelry, pulling him around with a collar like he was some kind of pet.

Lance was a Paladin of Voltron! He was one of the best marksman that Keith had ever seen and it was _wrong_ to see him degraded like that.

He wanted to rip Lotor to piece to deigning to put his hands on what was _Keith’s._

Drawing up short, Keith blinked in surprise at the training room door, a tendril of guilt working its way through his mind. Even if it was just in his head, he shouldn’t have thought of Lance as _his_ right?

Even if they loved each other.

Even if Lance had _kissed_ him so sweetly in that forest.

Keith dug a frustrated hand through his hair before stomping into the training room, a tightness to his chest making his eyes burn.

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair at all!

He just…he just wanted Lance back.

This wasn’t how he wanted it to happen at all. He wasn’t _as_ romantic as Lance but he still wanted their admission of their feelings for one another to be special. Something that they could work through at their own pace.

Not _this._

He didn’t want to find out when he couldn’t do anything about it!

Lance had told him he loved him just before getting captured by a Prince who was determined to turn him into some kind of pet.

His skin itched at the thought and he threw his jacket off letting it crumple next to the far wall as he started running.

Maybe a few laps would take care of this unease? This soul deep grief?

Soft, calm purrs washed over his mind and some part of his tension did unwind at the sound of Blue in his mind. She’d popped in periodically in the hours since she’d roused him from cryo, her own panic and trepidation managing to make Keith feel slightly better.

Blue was with him. She was just as worried about Lance as he was.

They both loved him and being so far away from him when he was in danger was almost like torture.

Each pounding step around the training room helped him sync just a little bit more with Blue’s tranquility, the coolness of her quintessence pulling at his worries and encouraging him to think with a clearer head.

She understood the grief at the core of his being in a way that he couldn’t comprehend but she didn’t push. Didn’t growl or snarl like Red would when he was giving himself a pity party.

Blue was a soother. Red was action oriented. There wasn’t time in Red’s world for a pity party.

He ran until his breath came in sharp pants and he stopped in the middle of the training deck, chest heaving before pulling his bayard from his pocket. The running had helped but there was something in him that ached for combat.

If he couldn’t destroy Lotor for putting his hands on Lance, then the gladiator would have to do.

Blue only purred in the back of his mind, the noise comforting in its own way.

No wonder Lance seemed pretty chill all the time. Blue was very good at it.

The gladiator descended from the ceiling soundlessly and Keith readied himself, a strange tingle running over his skin.

He frowned as the tingle edged the border between painful and weird, the sensation almost making him lose his grip on his bayard.

“Pause training sequence.” He hissed, sucking in a breath when the tingle turned into burning.

Long coursing brands that spread all over his skin, the heat muted as if it were actively being held back. He felt a tentative touch against his mind and startled once more, taking a knee so that he didn’t fall to the ground.

That….that was _Lance._

They’d all spent so much time together as Voltron and working with the mind meld helmets that it was impossible for him to mistake it. He could _feel_ Lance.

They brushed once more and it was almost like Lance’s presence grabbed onto his own, deepening their connection in a blinding rush of emotion and that bone deep branding pain.

The grief in his soul abruptly abated, leaving behind an almost compulsive need to find Lance.

To find him _right now._

Desperation colored Lance’s pull, fear and pain beating at Keith so quickly that the training room blurred as he tried to keep everything straight. He welcomed Lance’s pull but the emotions coming from him were scaring Keith.

What were they doing to him?

Then just as abruptly, Lance calmed, those turbulent emotions almost muted under a veil of forced calm. Keith could almost feel Lance taking deep slow breaths in an effort to calm himself.

He didn’t want him to panic?

Why?

Keith was already panicking. That pain was still broadcasting, muted as it was and it scared Keith. Whatever they were doing to him was so painful that he was having a hard time keeping his gaze straight.

He projected as best he could into their nascent bond, questioning, pleading. Anything that could get Lance to give him some idea how to help.

There had to be something he could do!

This was the boy he loved!

Tension was spiking in Lance’s end of the bond and Keith tried to breathe through his panic, Blue doing her best to try and aid him.

Something was about to happen.

_Please no._

_Don’t hurt him._

There was a split second of realization on Lance’s end and then it was like he slammed a wall down between them. A screech pulled itself from Keith’s chest and he clutched at his head, desperately trying to fight his way back.

Why would Lance push him away? Why wouldn’t he let him help?

Snarling, Keith pushed back.

He wasn’t about to let Lance protect him from this. He’d protected him enough.

The pain still transmitted but it was muted almost to the point that it was only a minor twinge. It made Keith frantic, trying his best to fight against Lance’s block.

His efforts were proving to be fruitless and eventually Lance shoved him away so hard that all he could do was recoil, hurt and confusion consuming his being.

Blue did her best to bolster him, her presence helping to take away the ache of Lance’s refusal to let him in.

That rejection hurt. It hurt so badly that Keith wasn’t sure what to think. This whole situation had him confused and frustrated.

Why did it affect him so wholly? He’d never been one for this before but something about this whole situation had him reacting in ways he’d never thought to react.

He was possessive, frantic, worried out of his mind. A part of him was _grieving_ before the reconnection with Lance.

Keith didn’t understand. He didn’t understand any of this!

But there was no way in hell, he was going to let Lance push him away again!

He gathered his mind, solidifying his mental strength and charged forward, shattering the hold that Lance kept on the bond with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.

There was only a moment to prepare himself before the pain hit him in full, his body feeling like it was actively in the process of being set on fire. A hoarse yell pulled itself from his throat and he toppled over, curling in on himself like it would stop the pain assailing his body.

God, this was what _Lance_ was feeling?

What were they doing? Why were they hurting him like this?

Was…was it because he’d taken Keith’s place?

This was his fault.

_This was all his fault._

He should never have let Lance take his place. He should have fought harder. He should have just jumped out of Blue’s mouth via the emergency exit or made the others turn around.

He wasn’t worth this.

Lance didn’t deserve to suffer like this.

_Please. Please stop hurting him._

Guilt. Guilt and devastation consumed him even as the pain threatened to cloud his vision at the corners.

In the midst of it all, he felt Lance reach out to him across the bond, a wave of love so strong and earnest broadcasting across their link. Keith couldn’t help but reach back, the bond deepening further as he let himself soak up Lance’s love.

He was so sorry.

None of this should have ever happened.

But once he found Lotor, he was going to rip him apart. Limb from limb. Piece to tiny piece.

Lance only floated over his anger and remorse, the waves of love and comfort never ceasing, even as the pain continued to debilitate both of them.

He held on with a desperation that surprised even him, panic setting in as Lance abruptly went quiet, the aching emptiness returning to the depths of his soul.

Keith could only sit in shock for a moment, unable to really register the sudden loss.

If he’d thought his Galra side had been grieving before, it was nothing compared to now. This time, his human half joined in, his entire being in a state of emotional agony.

Why…why had the bond disappeared?

Was he gone?

Did he succumb to whatever they were doing to him?

An animal like keen pulled itself from his chest once more and he curled in on himself for a moment, the grief blanking his mind until fury came in like a wave to burn it all away.

He would burn down the universe if something happened to Lance.

And he’d start with Lotor.

“Training session resume.”

He climbed to his feet, bayard forgotten as his side, hands curled into claws.

Keith needed this.

_His Lance might be gone._

For once, he couldn’t even reprimand himself for the possessive thought, only focused on the gladiator before him. Red consumed his vision and he flew forward, tearing and ripping at whatever he could get his hands on.

_They hurt him._

A limb flew from his tearing hands, the sparking white material embedding itself in the far wall as Keith continued, uncaring of the destruction he was bestowing upon the training room.

_He had no proof if Lance was gone_.

Sparks danced over Keith’s hands but he paid them no mind. This was nothing compared to what Lance was suffering at the moment.

_But he was hurt._

He tore and snarled until nothing remained in front of him but a pile of once functional gladiator, the pieces strewn around the floor and embedded in the walls. His anger abated, leaving behind a low level of panic and enough frustration to level a mountain.

_What was wrong with him?_

He was going to find out.

And he was going to get Lance back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have a fire lit!  
> It was really interesting to look at Keith's perspective of this particular event and let me tell you looking back and forth between Songbird and this doc was really weird. Like surround sound.  
> Anyway, happy flipping birthday to me!  
> Feel free to come scream in the comments and as always, caps lock is the truest way to my heart.  
> Until next time guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Lance is my favorite character, can you tell?  
> I'm so awful to him.  
> But, there is something in the works that is quite a bit kinder to our dear blue boy. Expect it by the end of the month! My new job is a bit demanding but once I figure everything out, I should have a lot more time to write.  
> As always, caps lock is the way to my heart and I love talking with you guys. Feel free to scream at/with me!


End file.
